


Curves and Spirals Through the Sky

by billiethepoet



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Awkward Sex, F/M, First Time, all's well that ends well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 19:18:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billiethepoet/pseuds/billiethepoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The course of the flight up and down was exceedingly erratic, partly due to the irregularity of the air, and partly to lack of experience in handling this machine." - Orville Wright</p><p>"I cannot describe the delight, the wonder and intoxication, of this free diagonal movement onward and upward, or onward and downward....The birds have this sensation when they spread their wings and go tobogganing in curves and spirals through the sky." - Alberto Santos-Dumont</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curves and Spirals Through the Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [consultingcompanion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/consultingcompanion/gifts).



> For consultingcompanion, because there's never enough Martin/Theresa and/or porn.
> 
> Much thanks to theimprobable1 for her beta skills.

“I think that you should stay here.” Theresa’s voice is light and Martin can practically hear the right corner of her mouth twisting up as she speaks, even through his cheap mobile phone. 

“Um.. stay where?” Martin sits up quickly, the hard plastic of the phone nearly slipping from his sweaty palm. He knows what she’s suggesting. Of course he knows. He just needs more time to process. 

She laughs, like she can see him fumbling as well as hear it. “Stay here, at the castle, with me.” 

He juggles the phone to his other ear and wipes his hand over the leg of his jeans. “At the castle? With you?” 

“Maxi is off at school. And my mother never comes back here unless she has to. It’s just me, rattling around in a great big castle all by myself.” When Martin gulps audibly, Theresa’s voice tips over into the teasing tone she so often takes with him. “And I’m sure our guest rooms are much nicer than whatever terrible hotel Carolyn will put you in.” 

_Guest rooms? Yes! No. Really?_ Martin thinks, but all that makes it out of his mouth is “Ahhhhhhh... guest rooms?” 

Theresa is still laughing. “Martin, you’re not staying in the guest rooms.” 

He takes a deep breath to steady himself. “Good. I don’t want to stay in the guest rooms. I mean, I’d rather not stay in the guest rooms if I had the choice-”

“Good. I don’t want you to stay in the guest rooms either.” Her voice isn’t teasing anymore. It’s pitched low and soft in a way that makes Martin’s stomach tumble.

Martin is a bit dumbstruck through the end of their regularly scheduled, twice weekly call. They’ve gone on six dates by now but none have had the luxury of extended time or privacy like spending his 21 hour layover at Theresa’s home will have. Theresa’s home which is a castle because she is a princess and it’s been a really long time since Martin’s been in a situation like this. Not a situation just like this but a situation in which he’s likely to end up having sex with someone, especially someone he really, genuinely likes. More than likes if he’s honest with himself. 

He flops backward, back and head hitting the hard cushions of his sofa and legs stretched out in front of him. “I’m going to cock this up, aren’t I?” His comment goes unnoticed by anyone and not even the ceiling has the good grace to answer back. 

***************  
He gets Carolyn alone before he tells her that he won’t need a hotel room for their stay in Hohenems. He’ll hire a car at the airport and drive the 40 kilometres to Vaduz Castle to stay with Theresa. He promises he’ll be back in plenty of time for the walk around and briefing before their return flight the next day. 

Carolyn keeps quiet on the subject when Martin tells her, but it’s only a few hours before the rest of MJN knows. 

“You get to stay in the castle! Have you stayed there before? Are there suits of armor standing guard at the bottom of grand staircases? Are there tapestries hanging in the great hall?” Arthur is positively vibrating while Martin hides his face in his hands. 

“No, I’ve never stayed there before. I’ve only been there the first time, and I’ve seen as much of it as you have.” 

“Yeah, but there have to be suits of armor, right?” 

Martin groans into his hands. “I don’t think there has to be anything.” 

“Sadly, Arthur, empty suits of armor are quite out of style for the modern castle. Most have been furnished by Ikea.” Douglas’s smooth voice is the last thing Martin wants to hear added to this conversation but yet here it is. He keeps his palms pressed to his cheeks. Surely he doesn’t need to see to fly a plane, right? 

“Really? Like the nice stuff at Ikea, not the regular stuff?” Arthur sounds confused but not entirely disappointed. 

Martin’s frustration finally causes his hands to drop back to GERTI’s yoke. “No, not really, Arthur. I’m sure the castle hasn’t been furnished by Ikea.” 

“I don’t know, you may be surprised. The Swedes claim they have a style for every home, presumably even a castle.” Douglas maintains his smirk, and Martin his stoic silence, until Carolyn calls Arthur out of the flight deck to prepare for landing. 

He doesn’t wait long after Arthur’s gone to start in again though. “So, you weren’t going to mention your upcoming overnight stay with the princess?” 

“No.”

“Why ever not?”

“This. This is exactly why not.” Martin busies himself with buttons and knobs to keep from looking at Douglas. 

The smirk is back in full force when Martin does finally make eye contact. “Nervous about a visit to the royal bedchamber, are we?” 

“No.”

“Really?”

“Just drop it, Douglas.” Martin’s voice is a bit harsher than he intended but Douglas is still smirking at him so it can’t have been too bad. 

The smirk stays firmly in place through their landing but Martin refuses to acknowledge it. 

***************  
The bright florescent lights of the corner chemist shop make the rainbow wall of boxes even more jarring. There are so many. How is he supposed to choose? The last time he needed condoms, his girlfriend always bought them. And before that he just nicked them from Simon. 

What was it that Rebecca used to buy? They were in a crumbled black box under her bed but Martin can’t remember what the gold lettering actually said. Would it be rude to buy the same type of condoms you used with an ex-girlfriend to use with a new girlfriend? Not saying that he would get to use them, he wasn’t expecting anything, not really. He just wanted to be prepared. 

Martin finally grabs a box of Trojan microsheer condoms and makes for the chip and PIN machine. The machine promptly squawks at him when he tries to scan the box and a spotty faced teenager has to ring up the condoms by hand. Martin only just keeps himself from melting completely into the floor in a hot puddle of embarrassment. 

He hides them deep in his shaving kit and covers the shaving kit with his spare clothes. He doesn’t want Theresa to see them, just in case she didn’t mean...what he thinks she meant. But he takes the whole box, just in case...well, just in case. 

***************  
They have a weather delay leaving Fitton, and then a further traffic delay at Hohenems before they can land. He’s over an hour late to pick up his car and his nerves are on edge. 

Martin rushes, safely rushes but rushes all the same, through the post-landing procedures and signing off on the flight logs. Douglas catches him just as he grabs his overnight bag from the flight deck locker. 

“Are you sure you don’t want any last minute advice? It’s not a shame to benefit from the age and experience of those around you.” 

“No!” Martin is down GERTI’s stairs and on the tarmac before Douglas starts to properly laugh at him. He’s not sure he actually cares anymore. He just wants to get to Vaduz to see Theresa. 

The forty-five minute drive stretches into an hour and Martin nearly wears the padding off the steering wheel by squeezing and twisting it in his hands. 

When he finally arrives at Vaduz Castle, tired and stressed and almost two hours late, Theresa throws open the castle door on his first knock and wraps her arms around his neck. When she pulls back she brushes her lips against his. Martin follows her mouth as she pulls away and kisses her more deeply. His hands settle against her back, one between her shoulder blades and one at the base of her spine, and pull her close. Martin means the kiss to be memorable, to be a promise of things to come, but he’s not sure if he gets it quite right. 

Theresa nips his bottom lip with her teeth when she pulls away. Martin slides both hands to her waist when she takes a step back. She’s smiling up (only slightly up really) at him. “Hello. You should come visit more often if that’s the welcome I get.” 

So he got the kiss right at least. 

Theresa gives him a short tour of the castle, stopping to show him a guest room and tease him about where to put his bag, before leading him to her suite and letting him change. He hangs up his uniform in the wardrobe next to her dresses and shrugs into jeans and a jumper. He tucks his shaving kit next to her hair dryer on the bathroom vanity and marvels at how natural their things look together. Like they could stay together every night and nothing would clash or rub uncomfortably against each other.

She shows him the rest of the castle, and then some of the grounds before it grows dark. There are a few suits of armor in the library and nothing seems to be flat-pack furniture. They cook dinner together in a ridiculously large but modern kitchen. Sipping wine and laughing while the chicken simmers. Theresa tries to show him how to dance and Martin almost sends both of them to the kitchen floor. He sings a little for her and Theresa claims it’s good. Martin’s sure she’s humoring him but he kisses her again anyway. 

They eat dinner at the kitchen table, even though Martin knows they have two dining rooms and a breakfast room, and Theresa skates her bare toes across his shin as they eat. When they wash up together, the wrists of Martin’s jumper come away damp but he can’t bring himself to care because he’s talking about the adjustments that need to be made in when landing with a tailwind and Theresa is jumping right in with her own knowledge and everything feels perfect. 

After dinner, they end up sunk into an incredibly soft sofa in some sort of small library turned media room. Theresa puts on a film and curls against Martin’s shoulder with her knees drawn up to her chest. Martin strokes his fingertips along her shoulder and down her arm while he pretends to pay attention to the movie. In spite of the near perfect evening spent together, Martin’s anxieties come back in full force. _Should I kiss her again? What if she’s genuinely interested in the film? I don’t want to distract her. Either way, we’ll have to go to bed soon. We’ll go to bed together soon and should I wait until then to do anything? Should I do anything at all? I don’t have to. This is lovely just the way it is._

His mind runs in circles, the same as his fingers are doing against Theresa’s arm, until he feels Theresa’s warm, dry lips press against the underside of his jaw. He wills himself not to move, not to stop his fingers from moving on their predictable pattern up and down her arm, while she traces the line of his jaw to his neck and then begins to work her way down. 

They’ve done this, well a little bit of this, before. Martin can relax here. He tells himself that anyway, but Theresa goes directly for the spot beneath his ear that she discovered the last, and the first, time they did this. His head tips to the side automatically, exposing more of his neck to her, and she snakes her tongue out to press against that traitorous spot. Martin’s arm tightens around her shoulder and draws her closer as involuntarily as if a doctor had struck his kneecap with a hammer. 

Theresa keeps kissing along his throat until she’s worked herself up to sitting on her knees and turned to face him. Martin’s arm is now wrapped around her back and she’s kissed all the way to his Adam’s apple. He can feel where her breasts are pressed into his side and suddenly it’s not enough, and the pack of condoms upstairs is calling to him, and he wants _more_. 

“Theresa...” Martin’s voice is gravelly and much lower than he is used to hearing. Theresa pulls her mouth away from his throat and looks up. Martin takes the opportunity to pull her across his lap. It doesn’t work perfectly; her knee gets caught against his leg and she has to lift up a bit but he soon has her straddling thighs. She settles her hands on his stomach for balance with the heels of her hands touching his bare skin where his jumper has ridden up. Her dress has rucked up as well and Martin runs his hands up warm calves and bent knees. 

“Hello there.” Theresa brings her face inches from Martin’s without closing that final distance. Martin does it for her, bringing his lips and tongue forward to meet hers. The kiss is slow, more like a banked fire than the blaze building in Martin’s gut. 

He keeps the kiss easy and relaxed for several moments before pulling back. “Hello.” His voice sounds much more like himself this time. 

“I can’t see the movie from here.” Theresa’s eyes glimmer with mischief in the low light and her mouth curls upward at the right corner in just the way Martin loves. 

“Is that a complaint?” He squeezes the bare skin of her calves for emphasis. 

She laughs and it’s one of the few laughs in the world Martin is sure is never directed at him but always with him. “No. Just an observation. But I think you should go back to kissing me now.” 

This time the kiss isn’t slow or easy. Martin brings one arm around Theresa’s waist and one hand to tangle in her hair. She rises up on her knees a bit so that she’s leaning over into his mouth. Her fingers scramble and work their way under his jumper until her hands are framing his ribs on either side of his chest. Martin can feel the push of her breasts again, this time into his chest as he presses up into her mouth. 

He breaks the kiss only when he absolutely needs to take a deep breath. His lips feel hot and swollen, and Theresa’s look like they feel the same. Before she can close the distance between them again, Martin grabs her hips with both hands and urges her to sit taller on her knees. He surges forward, nearly knocking his forehead against her chin, and kisses the hollow of her throat. He works his mouth over the cords of her throat and across as much of her collarbones as the neckline of her dress will allow. He kisses his way back to the side of her throat and Theresa lets out a breathy “Oh, Martin”. Her fingers are squeezing against his ribcage and her reaction makes Martin brave. He swipes his tongue along the column of her neck before sucking. Not hard, he doesn’t want to suck hard enough to leave a mark, just hard enough to see if she likes it. 

Theresa lets out a much louder groan and her hips jump forward in Martin’s hands. He almost loses his grip on her and she teeters precariously above him. He squeezes more tightly with his hands and sucks just a bit harder with his mouth to keep her in place. Martin keeps kissing, sucking, and gently licking at the side of Theresa’s neck until he feels her shift closer, sliding her knees wider and inching her body forward until she’s straddling his lap rather than his thighs. He pulls back, eyes proudly taking in the flush along her neck and chest. Theresa lowers herself until her bottom is firmly seated against Martin’s crotch. There’s a fleeting moment of embarrassment when Martin realizes that Theresa can feel exactly how much he’s enjoying this and how much he wants it to continue, but she rolls her hips forward and all motivation to be embarrassed flies right out the window. Martin watches while Theresa works her hands from under his jumper. Her dress has ridden up even further and he can see just a peek of her pale blue knickers where her thighs are spread wide around him. Blue has always been his favorite color. Theresa’s hands wind in his hair and she tugs his eyes up to be level with her own. 

When she brings their mouths together again, it’s with an entirely new urgency. No more banked fires or restrained feelings. Theresa holds his head steady as she controls the kiss, with lips, teeth, and tongue all tangling with Martin’s until he feels like he’s drowning. He’s not sure if his spine wants to melt into the sofa, to let her have her way with him, or if he wants to push back, to sit straight and tall and demand of her as she’s demanding of him. He settles for something in the middle, for something brave but not intimidating. He pushes back enough to bring his chest to Theresa’s breasts. His hands slide from her hips to her shoulder blades to pull her closer. With every hitch forward and shift back, he can feel her breasts rubbing, pressing against his chest. The scratchy pull of his jumper against what sparse chest hair he has is suddenly unbearable. Martin wants to feel soft, sweet skin against his own and wishes that Theresa had pulled his jumper up and off instead of just pulling her hands from it. 

Martin doesn’t mourn the fact that they are both still fully dressed for long. Theresa is rocking back and forth in his lap in time with her kisses and he is shifting and moving to meet her without realizing it. His heels bounce from the floor, thighs stiffen and rise, hips rocking forward, and his arms pull her down all without his conscious say so. 

She keeps kissing him and her fingers scratch through his hair, down his neck, and back again. The kisses are suitably distracting that Martin doesn’t realize his hands have slid around Theresa’s chest until he’s cupping her ribcage with much more delicacy than he feels in the pounding of his heart. His thumbs trace the band of her bra through the fabric of her dress, the tips barely brushing the underside of her breast as he strokes back and forth. 

Theresa breaks their kiss, resting her forehead against Martin’s, but not pulling her body away from his hands. He can feel the pricks of sweat forming under his fringe where it’s mashed against Theresa’s, but she doesn’t seem to mind. His thumbs stop their tentative exploration and he’s about to ask _Is this alright? Can I touch you here? Please, can I touch you like this?_ but Theresa smiles and rolls her shoulders back, pushing more of her breasts against Martin’s thumb. She runs a trail of kisses down his cheek and until she finds the spot beneath his ear again. 

A wave of boldness overtakes Martin and he slides his left hand all the way around her chest. His fingers extend over her dress and his palm presses flat against Theresa’s breast. He pulls his hand down, the scratch of the fabric over slight callouses sounding harsh against Theresa’s breathy sigh against his neck, to cup her through her dress. He can’t feel much, honestly, through the layers of her dress and the padding of her bra. He gives a slow squeeze anyway. Theresa’s hips roll forward across his lap and the sight of those pale blue knickers disappearing against the fly of his jeans is mesmerizing. 

Theresa scrapes the edge of her teeth against Martin’s neck when he squeezes again. She sits back, pulling fully away this time, and Martin’s hands fall to her bare knees.

“Let’s go to bed.” Her face is flushed, her voice sounds dark and warm, and all Martin can do is nod mutely as Theresa pulls him to his feet and toward her bedroom. 

There’s a small lamp on one of Theresa’s bedside tables casting warm light and shadows around the room. She stops Martin before he can walk purposefully, and nervously, to the bed and kisses him again. She only has to stretch her neck up a bit to reach him comfortably when they stand toe to toe. This time her hands come to the front of his jumper, smoothing up and down his chest, and Martin wishes he’d worn something thinner, something lighter, or nothing at all. Martin’s hands come to her waist and then, with bravery and boldness still pumping through his blood, trail lower. He cups Theresa’s arse, much more of a handful than her breasts, and pulls her close. Martin feels the groan and little laugh Theresa lets out against his mouth and smiles in return. 

He doesn’t necessarily feel her pull one arm away from his chest or see her twist that arm behind her back, but he hears the slide of her dress zip as she works it down past her shoulders and all the way to her waist. Nearly the only thing that could convince Martin to pull his hands away from Theresa’s arse is the promise of bare skin.

And that skin is so hot. Martin cannot believe how hot and soft it is as he works his hands under the open folds of her dress. Surely his skin has never been so warm outside a fever. Will he feel as warm when Theresa touches him? 

She’s already touching him though. Her hands are pulling at the front of his jumper, encouraging it up over his head. He pulls his hands away from where they had been feeling the skin just under the band of her bra and lets her pull the jumper up and over and toss it to the floor. His hands are itching to get back to their earlier work, to feel that skin again, but Theresa steps away to shimmy the dress down her body and kick it away. 

When they come back together, it feels like too much skin. She’s burning his chest with her stomach, her shoulders, her arms. The faint line of blonde hair below his navel rubs against the flat of her stomach and the denim of his jeans catches against her knickers. Where Theresa’s bra is still a barrier between them feels like torture and a greatly needed reprieve all at once. 

Theresa leans back and works her hands between them, fingers coming to rest on the button of his jeans. “I want you to be wearing less clothes.” Her smile is wicked, turned up at both corners now, and she looks like she’s having fun. In all the scenarios he considered, he never thought of this as simple fun. Affirming, necessary, pleasurable, awkward, potentially disappointing, all of those crossed his mind but never just _fun_. 

He watches as her fingers pop the button on his jeans and move to his flies before realizing that he should probably be doing, or saying, something. 

“Yes, you too. Less clothes for you too.” He tries to unhook her bra. He starts with both hands, knowing that he’ll never be able to do it with one, but every time one hook feels like it gives it feels like the second one magically relatches itself. 

“Here. Let me.” Theresa twists her arm, just one arm Martin notices with a spike of jealousy, behind her back again and pops both hooks with ease. His fingers itch as he slides the straps from her shoulders and the bra joins the growing pile of clothes on the floor. Martin steps from the tangle of jeans at his feet and kicks them away. He hadn’t noticed Theresa pushing them down, which is a shame because that’s a feeling he’d like to revisit later, in his focus to get her bra off. But now they’re standing there in just their final scraps of clothing and Theresa is staring at his chest as if it isn’t covered with freckles, or an uneven smattering of blonde hair, and like the few ounces of muscle he may have packed on around his skinny frame weren’t hard fought for. She’s staring at him like she could devour him whole and a primal urge to _want, take, have_ rockets to the bottom of Martin's stomach. 

It’s him that brings them together this time with hands pulling at her shoulders. And, oh yes, it’s much better to feel her against him without the extra layers of fabric and padding between them. His hands are in her hair and he’s sure she must be deliberately sliding up just a few inches then letting herself fall back down again because the drag of her nipples against his chest is too good to be accidental. 

As Theresa pulls him toward the bed, he tries to remember, and not to remember too specifically, what other girlfriends had liked. It feels like cramming for an exam he’s sure to fail and those final seconds before she sits on the side of the bed in front of him are spent in panic. 

She smiles up at him for a few rapid heartbeats before hooking her fingers in the waistband of his boxer briefs (green ones and brand new, thanks to his Mum at Christmas but he never plans to tell Theresa that). “Can I?” she says as her tongue darts out to lick the corner of her mouth. 

“Yes, please.” He means it to sound suave and playful but the crack in his voice makes it much closer to begging. 

Theresa rolls them down his thighs and he takes over somewhere around his own knees. While he steps out of them, she scootches back against the duvet, lifting her hips and drawing her knees up to pull her own knickers away. Theresa ends up on her back, naked and beautiful, reaching for Martin. 

He brings his knees to rest on the bed, then plants his hands above her shoulders and lowers himself down. He doesn’t want to crush her. He doesn’t want to push certain parts of himself against her too much. It feels rude and demanding. 

Theresa doesn’t seem to agree. She pulls his head down, but past her lips and straight to her throat, and she’s arching and wiggling underneath him for increased contact. That’s all the encouragement Martin needs. He lowers a bit further to better nip at the dip at the base of Theresa’s throat. His cock, which is so close to being fully hard that the lack of attention is getting a bit distracting, skids along Theresa’s pelvis and through the tangle of dark curls between her legs as she rolls her body up to meet him. Martin is pretty sure the moan he lets out against her throat is twice as loud as it should be, but Theresa rolls her hips again so she can’t be holding it against him. 

It takes a few more shifts and adjustments before Martin realizes that Theresa is slowly pushing him downward. He rises up on one arm to kiss across her collar bones, past the smooth, flat portion of her chest, until he reaches the small swell of her breast. He pulls up the hand no longer supporting his weight and cups her gently. Theresa’s breasts are small, so small one easily fits in the palm of his hand, and pert. The nipples stand out in a deep dusky rose pink. Martin stares as his thumb drags back and forth over the tip, where her nipple strains higher for more sensation. 

He looks up because he can feel Theresa watching him. She’s not smiling anymore but her mouth gaps open and heavy exhales dance over his hair. He smiles up at her instead, trying to reflect back the fun he saw earlier and reassure all at the same time. Not that she needs reassurance but he wants to give it anyway. He keeps the smile on his lips as he ducks down to take Theresa’s nipple in his mouth. He swirls his tongue and a particularly hard flick earns him another strong push of her hips against his. 

He keeps his mouth and hand there, licking and sucking and squeezing, until her movements quiet. When he shifts to the other breast and takes that nipple between his teeth, Theresa’s hand shoots to his hair and clings there. He takes his time and counts every sigh or wriggle of Theresa’s body under his hands as a reward for a job well done. 

Eventually, her hand grows tighter in his hair and she’s not pushing his head exactly but the desire is clear. He kisses down, away from her breasts and across her ribs, anointing the ridge of each one with a gentle press of his lips before dragging his tongue in the groove where her hip bone slopes into the flat of her stomach. Martin sinks to his knees on the floor in front of the bed. He drags his fingertips through her curls and she’s already sliding forward, letting her knees falls wide, to meet him at the edge. 

He can do this. He’s done it before, quite a bit actually because he _likes_ doing it. The smell and the taste and the enjoyment it brought the two previous girlfriends he’s tried it on were some of the highlights of Martin’s sexual experience. He starts slow, with dry lips along Theresa’s thigh and fingers spreading her open. When he leans in to start in earnest, it’s with long licks from bottom to top. With his tongue laid flat against her labia, he strokes up and down, working one side and then the other. Finally, his tongue comes to the middle, to her opening, and corkscrews up and in. 

At that motion, Theresa presses her arse down hard on the edge of the bed and brings her feet to Martin’s shoulders. Her toes curl in against him and he presses his tongue deeper. Her hips roll down in a subtle plea to get him to direct his attention higher. Martin stays where he is, mostly out of contentment but also because of his complete ignorance to almost anything that could be described as subtle. Theresa leaves him there for a few more moments, his tongue working in and out, before she presses her heels against his shoulders and leans up so she can see the top of his hand disappearing between her legs. 

“Martin? Martin. Move up. Move up higher.” He doesn’t process what’s she’s saying at first. Is she asking him to stop, to come back to the bed? Does she want him to rise up on his knees more? He pauses, pulling back from the moist heat of her cunt, to decide what to do. In his moment of indecision, Theresa speaks again. “No, your tongue. Move your tongue higher.” 

“Oh.” He tries to comply, reconnecting with her center and flicking his tongue softly. He leaves his fingers on either side of her opening, rubbing along her labia with a slow and steady pressure. 

“No, not that high. A little lower.” He dips his chin and moves his tongue down about a quarter of an inch, and who knew such a small distance could make such a difference? Theresa immediately tosses her head back to the bed and arches her back. Martin resumes his light flicking across her clit. He can feel it straining and hardening under his tongue and one hand automatically drops to press against his cock. The pulse of blood flow feels like a connected circuit between them and he can’t not touch himself. 

The hand in his hair, which is all but forgotten about, grips stronger. “Harder. Please Martin, lick harder.” This is something he knows his previous girlfriends didn’t like. He had always been told to be _softer_ , to touch this spot _more gently_ , but Theresa is arching into his mouth and her free hand is positively tugging at her breast. He dives in, tongue moving both harder and faster. Theresa cries out and all of a sudden the moments of awkward self-consciousness at her corrections are gone and this is all very fun again. 

He keeps going, his tongue providing constant pressure and motion against Theresa’s clit and his own hand still pressed against his cock. He doesn’t stroke. That might be too much at the moment but he still needs some relief. 

Theresa leaves him there, his tongue working against her as she plucks her nipples in turn. She eases Martin back, soothing both hands along his shoulders. “I have-” She has to stop to lick her lips “I have condoms in the drawer-”

“No! I brought some. I brought condoms.” His knees creak and are burned a ruddy red as he pulls himself up from the rug. Theresa slides back toward the middle of the bed with a mischievous smile on her face as Martin turns to fetch the condoms from his shaving kit in the bathroom. He refuses to think about the indignity of a naked man with an erection practically scurrying in search of condoms. 

When he reaches the bathroom, he takes a moment to assess himself in Theresa’s wall sized mirror. His skin is flushed from the top of his head to where the vanity blocks his thighs from view. His cock stands out, angled away from his abdomen, red and hard. His lips and chin are sticky and shiny. He’s not particularly handsome, but he doesn’t look bad either. He digs through the shaving kit to free the box of condoms and rips off the top all in one motion. Does he take one? Two? To hell with it, he’ll take the whole box. 

When he makes it back to the bed, Theresa has turned to be lying on the bed in the more conventional fashion with her hair splayed out across the pillows and her bent knees knocking together. She eyes the box of condoms in Martin’s hand. “Oh, feeling energetic, are we?” 

“No! I mean yes, but I didn’t think we’d use all of them. At least not tonight. I just wanted to be prepared and...” Martin trails off because Theresa is giggling at him. He can’t help but smile back at her. “You’re teasing me.” Theresa nods as Martin tosses the box of condoms on the bedside table, a few spilling out of the ruined boxtop. 

She rolls on her stomach to come within easy reach of where Martin stands beside the bed. “Here. I’ll do it.” She plucks a foil pack from the table and takes Martin’s cock firmly in her other hand. Theresa’s hand is small but feels anything but fragile while she holds him. On the first firm stroke, Martin groans and his eyes fall shut without his say so. On the second, his hips jump forward to meet her and his eyes snap open to watch. 

She gives a third and final stroke before leaning over to kiss the head of Martin’s cock. Her lips make a moist smacking noise against his glans when she pulls back. “More of that another time, I think.” She’s ripping open the foil packet and rolling the condom over his erection before Martin can even properly process that Theresa actually touched his dick with her mouth and wants to do it again. The image has him twitching in her hand as she rolls the condom to its end. 

She rolls back to her previous position, head arranged neatly on dark pillows, before reaching up to guide him on top of her. Martin settles into position between her bent knees and reaches down to align himself with her. The butterflies that have taken up residence in his stomach since Theresa first made this hazy fantasy a concrete possibility come roaring back to life, along with a healthy spike of excitement. He pushes in, but only manages about a third of his length before meeting resistance. Theresa pulls a face and rolls her hips under him. He pulls back. 

“Sorry, so sorry. I got the angle wrong. I’ll just try again.” He squeezes the base of his cock in an attempt to stop his own babbling before lining up again. He presses forward again but this time he’s far too low and doesn’t manage to work his way in at all. 

Theresa drops her shoulder, reaching down to wrap her hand around his length. “Here, like this.” She slides the head of Martin’s cock up her slit until it slips in easily. “Now move.” 

Martin tries to ease into it. To sink all the way in before pulling back and thrusting deeper, but his hips take over with a mind of their own. He gives quick, shallow thrusts and thinks it may all be over way too soon before he’s able to slow his pace. Martin has to look away from Theresa’s face, concentrate on his hands splayed by her ears, in order to keep control. He settles into a rhythm that has Theresa sighing and rocking under him. Theresa pulls her knees up, anchoring them around his ribs and hooking her feet around his hips, to make Martin sink even deeper with his slow and steady thrusts. 

After the rhythm is established, he’s able to look at her. Her eyelids have fallen low but not entirely closed and her cheeks are flushed. She’s not looking back at him directly but her breath puffs out across his cheek in time with the roll of her hips. Even at this relaxed speed, Martin’s forehead is beginning to sweat. He silently hopes he doesn’t drip on her. 

In what seems like a very long time, but never long enough, Theresa is pulling on his biceps, urging him down with a string of mumbled endearments. He pauses, not sure of the logistics of what she’s trying to do. At his confusion, Theresa slides her palms to the inside of Martin’s elbows and applies pressure until they begin to fold. 

“Oh! I see!” slips from Martin’s mouth before he realizes it’s probably not the best pillow talk. But he manages to lower his upper body down on his elbows without more instruction. This has the very pleasant effect of bringing his chest in contact with Theresa’s still hardened nipples, relieving the distracting pressure on Martin’s wrists, and allowing him to kiss Theresa all at once. He should have thought of this position before. 

The kissing definitely adds to the experience for both of them. The muffled moans and stifled groans Theresa lets out against his lips are intoxicating. He rolls his hips and presses forward harder and faster to see if the sound will change. The more she whimpers, the harder and deeper he tries to thrust, and the more she arches to meet him. 

It feels like they’re beginning to spin out of control, rising higher and faster, when Martin slips. He pulls out too far, too fast, and misses the proper angle to re-enter on his next thrust. He ends up sliding his wet cock against Theresa’s arse instead. 

He instantly pushes back up on straight arms so he can look at her fully. “Oh no! No, no, no.” If Martin’s being honest with himself, his distress is as much because of his own loss as it is in potentially disappointing Theresa. “I’ll get it back in. Just give me a second.” 

But Theresa is already rising up on her elbows and lowering her legs to the bed. For one horrible moment, he thinks she’s going to call it all off. Instead, she taps him on the shoulder and says, “Roll over”.

Martin stops entirely. “What?”

“Roll over and lie on your back. Time for me to do the work.” That half curl of a smile is back on her face and she’s pushing damp hair from his forehead. But most importantly, she’s not mad or frustrated with him and it’s perfect. She’s perfect. 

There are a few moments of reshuffling and readjusting on the bed before Theresa holds the base of Martin’s cock firmly in her hand and sinks slowly onto it. He stares, mouth agape, as he watches his length disappear between her folds. She settles onto his lap and rocks back and forth, grinding down on him, and Martin has to repeat _Don’t buck up, don’t buck up, don’t buck up_ over and over again in his head until she’s had her fill of that slow, rotating motion and is ready to ride him. 

When she is ready, Theresa plants her hands on Martin’s chest and rises up. He’s again transfixed by the reappearance and disappearance of his cock as she slides up and down. His hands rest on her hips, encouraging her up and down, then back and forth, motion as she rides him. 

As Theresa begins to move faster and with more force, Martin allows his own hips to rise to meet her. That first hard slap of her arse against the tops of his thighs wrings a loud, harsh ‘“Yes!” from Theresa’s lips. So Martin bends his knees, plants his feet flat on the bed, and does it again and again. 

Theresa leans forward, mischievous smile now obscured by her panting and moaning. “This is my favorite. I won’t take much longer.” 

“Jesus,” is all Martin can manage to get out. Instead, he brings his hands up to squeeze her breasts, thumbs to flick across her nipples, in the only type of encouragement he thinks he can manage right now. 

Her fingernails are digging half-moon shapes into his chest when she comes. She’s still bent slightly forward when Martin first feels her tighten around his cock, but Theresa throws her head back and arches away from him as her muscles go taut. Martin instinctually wraps his arms around her back to support her. Theresa stays nearly silent, much more quiet than she had been before at least, but she’s shaking and twitching in his arms. She presses down hard and grinds out a few final aftershocks before going limp against Martin’s chest with a weak laugh. 

Watching Theresa had distracted Martin from the inevitable, but not for long. This had been perfect for her, and good for him as well, but not enough. His hips want to snap downward, not up. He needs to go harder and faster than he can from this angle. His hands are still pressed tight against her back and his cock feels thicker and heavier than it ever has in his life. 

“Theresa? I need... I need to be back on top.” It’s all biology and instinct at this point. Martin’s blushing but he can’t stop himself from voicing what he needs. He’ll remember to be embarrassed by it tomorrow. Every last inch of him is begging to fuck and come deep inside her. 

She’s jerking her head against his shoulder. He can feel her hair tickling his chin and hear her “Yes, yes, whatever you want. Whatever you need.” 

Martin does the best he can to flip them gracefully. He still comes out all the way again, and they end up at a bit of an odd angle across the bed, but he barely notices. He pulls her knees up and out and pushes back in as quick as he can. He’s back over her on his elbows when he starts snapping his hips forward. The slap of damp skin on skin is loud in the room. Theresa’s back to small whimpers and breathy moans, but this time it’s the sound of someone winding down, not building up.

Martin’s still building up though. He can feel it knot at the base of his spine and in his balls. It’s like a taut, hot coil tightening behind his abdomen. With each thrust, he can feel it twist a little tighter. The tighter it goes, the better the rush of release will be. He tries to hold off as long as he can but he’s practically slamming into Theresa at breakneck speed. He feels the last twist of that hot coil and then a moment of freefall before the dam breaks. 

He’s not quiet at all. With his face buried against Theresa’s neck, teeth set against one straining tendon, he cries out. It’s a jumble of words: her name, curses, pleas to God, mindless affirmation. He manages two final thrusts before pushing in as hard and deep as he can to empty himself completely. 

It feels like an eternity until he gets his breath back. He’s lying nearly flat on Theresa and she’s petting down his spine when he comes back to his senses. 

He knows he can’t push himself up and away from her. His arms feel too much like jelly to even consider it. Instead he rolls to the side so he makes it mostly off her upper body. “Sorry, sorry. I have to be crushing you.” 

“No, you’re not that heavy.” Theresa turns on her side, managing to wriggle out from under the rest of Martin. She stays close, tucking her arms against his chest and leaving their legs wrapped together. 

They lie like that, content to breathe each other’s air, for long moments. Martin stretches his fingers so just the tips can twist the ends of Theresa’s hair but that’s the only motion between them. Martin wishes he could stay this way and fall asleep with his fingers in Theresa’s hair, but he can feel the condom slipping dangerously low on his spent cock. 

“I should...” He points to the loo instead of trusting himself to explain the messy details. He rises from the bed on watery knees and turns his back to Theresa to pull off the condom. Martin thinks he gets the knot done up correctly. He holds it gingerly between two fingers while he inspects the structural integrity of the knot. 

He hears Theresa’s laugh behind him. “I like the view. Is this dinner and a show?” 

Martin makes it to the loo before the blush sets in fully. The large mirror shows that full body flush brilliantly. This time Martin can also see the impression of teeth and nails and a bit of a burn from the duvet on the heel of his right hand. Unfortunately, it doesn’t show a rubbish bin anywhere in the room. Martin turns in a circle and checks the corners of the room and the space around the toilet. He’s about to admit defeat and call out to Theresa, but she beats him to it. “It’s under the sink.” 

He spins and finds her leaning against the door frame, still completely nude. She looks tousled and gorgeous and Martin’s standing there with a used, poorly knotted condom in hand. Theresa pulls a set of towels from a linen cupboard as he chucks the condom in the bin. 

“Do you want to take a shower?” 

Martin eyes the towels and weighs the benefits of cleanliness against the joy of falling asleep. “I think I’ll just clean up a bit. I’m knackered.” 

Theresa leans up to kiss him. “Me too. You tired me out.”

“Did I? Is that good?” He doesn’t want to fish for compliments, well maybe he does, but he absolutely needs to know if the sex was good. He needs to know what to do next time and what to avoid. 

“Yes. It’s very good.” A grin spreads wide across Theresa’s face. “I don’t think you’re getting any royal medals this time but next time, who knows?” 

“Ah, so they’ll be a next time?” Martin tries to sound casual but his voice rises an octave before he can finish. 

“Oh yes. You have so many condoms to use.” She presses up for another kiss; this one deeper and longer but calm and not pushing for anything more. When she pulls back, enough for them to see each other clearly but still standing well in Martin’s space, Martin finally feels completely comfortable simply standing naked with Theresa. “And besides, you know what they say. Practice makes perfect.” She’s halfway through the bathroom door when she calls back, “And we’re going to get plenty of practice.” 

He thinks back to the years of study and hard work it took to pass his CPL. “I like practice,” he calls back. 

By the time Martin finishes in the loo, Theresa is curled on her side in the bed and fast asleep. Martin tucks in behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist and trying to tuck the other between her pillow and the bed without waking her. She scoots back into the bend of his body and his arms fall into place. That’s how it’s always been with Theresa though. Maybe an awkward build-up, but then everything comes together and even the worst bits, the bits that should be mortifying, are easy. 

He kisses her shoulder and settles in to sleep. 

***************  
When Martin regains consciousness, the bed next to him is empty and the shower is running in the attached loo. He doesn’t want to disturb Theresa, to go barging in on her in the shower, and he can certainly handle a few minutes alone in bed even if he feels a twinge of disappointment at not waking up with her. 

He swings in and out of sleep until he hears the shower cut off. He tries to time getting out of bed and pulling on his boxer briefs with Theresa’s exit from the loo. He’s only got them around his knees when she appears, wrapped in a fluffy yellow towel. Martin manages to pull them up sharply, tucking himself away, before Theresa reaches him for a good morning kiss. He’s never been at ease with nudity, even with no one else in the room. 

Theresa pushes him toward the loo with instructions to take a proper shower and shuts the door behind him. Martin’s barely through rinsing the suds from his hair when Theresa sneaks into the shower in front of him and gracefully folds to her knees. 

A bold part of Martin wants to pull her up, spin her around, and bend her against the shower wall. But he doesn’t. Instead she swallows, sputters, and laughs before they collapse back on the bed to discover what Martin’s recovery time may be like. He would have been self-conscious about how long it takes if he hadn’t discovered Theresa’s preoccupation with his hands and fingers. He puts them to good use in the meant time. She goes quiet again when she comes around him and Martin sets himself a goal to hear her raise her voice sometime, maybe the next time. 

It’s hours later when Martin is standing by his hired car, with his overnight bag packed and his uniform shirt freshly pressed. Theresa has followed him out and stands ready to say goodbye. The castle stretches up behind her, tall and strong, and her hair flows down her back and floats on the breeze. Her smile is lovely; it’s always lovely. 

He looks from the tallest point of the castle back to Theresa’s dark eyes before pulling in a sharp breath. “Theresa, would you come to Fitton to stay with me for a weekend?” It comes out too fast, on a rush of air straight from Martin’s gut, but she understands him anyway. 

“I’ll come visit you whenever you like.” An attic’s no place for a princess, but Martin can see her spread out on his dodgy sofa-bed with the rays of the late afternoon sun hitting her hair. 

Martin kisses her goodbye. He tries to mimic the kiss he gave her when he arrived but this time he’s more confident in the pressure of his hands and the push of his tongue against hers. She watches him as he drives down the long stretch of gravel toward the main road, and Martin watches her in the rear view mirror until Theresa’s figure slips behind a gentle rise in the road. The castle remains in the retreating view, its round columns and tipped points rising above the horizon line. Maybe an attic isn’t so far from a castle tower after all.


End file.
